


attempted comfort

by zehecatl



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Creativitwins, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Gen, Self-Hatred, accidental head wound, described gore, implied suicidal thoughts, one threat of dissection, the relationship between these two is Not Good but they care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zehecatl/pseuds/zehecatl
Summary: Remus finds Roman in his bathtub, and catches himself a case of Worries.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders
Comments: 9
Kudos: 163





	attempted comfort

**Author's Note:**

> post Putting Others First, Roman angst with creativitwins that’s not on friendly terms yet, but still Care
> 
> originally posted on tumblr, so if you remember this, yes. that was me

Remus doesn’t expect to find Roman in _his_ bathtub, curled up like terrified child hiding from a serial killer, bundled up in blankets that are, decidedly, _not Remus’_ , and looking like something dragged through a corpse-pit.

He stands there, just for a moment, taking it in- it _has_ been a while since he’s seen his brother so down, and it’s rather enjoyable, sibling bond be damned, but, well. His fingers are itching.

He flips the water on, and Roman screeches just like a cat who’s gotten its tail stuck in the door.

“ _Remus_!” he howls, flailing his arms and sending water (and blankets) everywhere. He twists around, slaps his hands at the rim, and then the faucet.

“Roman!” Remus mimics, throws his arms out. The grin he gives is more teeth than anything else; his fingers tick for something sharp. “You’re in my bathtub!”

Roman pushes a hand through his hair; he drips water, soaked, and it eases at that urge Remus’ been gnawing at since he first saw his dear old brother darling in _his_ bathtub, looking like something rotten and decayed.

“Why’d you _do that_?!” he asks, voice pitched. He sounds miserable.

It’s rather funny.

“Well, you _are_ in the bathtub, aren’t you? I was just _trying_ to help out!”

Roman glares.

But it’s a weak thing, frail as a baby, and Remus ignores it with all the practice of a brother- instead he climbs into the tub, kicks Roman’s feet aside, and makes himself comfortable against the wet porcelain.

“Any reason you’re in _my_ tub, instead of your own? I presume you’re not here to acknowledge that _I’m_ the superior side, and Thomas would be _much_ better off with me in the driver’s seat?”

Roman scoffs- waves a hand, almost subconsciously, to vanish the water still clinging to his clothes and blankets, and pooling in the bottom of the tub. “No.”

Remus shrugs. “Then _why_ are you hanging out in _my_ bathtub, disturbing _me_?”

His fingers are itching again; he curls them together, taps them against one another one by one, and then flexes them. He thinks, more idly than usual, about taking a knife to Roman’s face.

Of carving his eyes out, one by one, of peeling the skin from his face, slow and painful, and-

Roman hasn’t answered.

Remus blinks. Stares, and finally registers that Roman isn’t wearing his princely attire- finally, properly thinks about the fact that Roman is _here_ , in his bathtub, curled up like a kid hiding, and-

“Ro,” he doesn’t mean to pitch his voice soft. “What happened?”

He hasn’t called Roman ‘Ro’ in ages. Hasn’t taken this soft tone with him since- ever.

Roman flinches. Like, straight out flinches, body curving in on himself, and Remus’ not once for soft things, isn’t made for them, but-

Worry bubbles in his gut like vomit, and he curls forward, leans in over Roman till his brother can feel the weight of him there.

“Roman.”

There’s an itch beneath his skin.

“Why’re you in my bathtub?”

Roman sinks down, shoulders up to his ears, face tucked away. A drop of water trickles down his face, along the curve of his nose. Remus realises his eyes are red.

“Patton was at my door,” he says, eventually, voice very, very tense.

Remus stares at him. Waits, because he might not like Patton worth a damn, but he’s Roman’s _friend_ , or something, so why is this a thing that’d send Roman _here_? Why’s it matter?

What is he _missing_?

Roman’s shoulders quiver. He’s staring away, resolute as stone, but there’s cracks in his exterior, spider-fine, and Remus itches to dig his fingers in, to break his brother in half to just _get_ at whatever’s the problem, but he’s also pretty sure Roman wouldn’t appreciate a sudden dissection. 

Though that _would_ be fun- he wonders if Roman’s real, on the inside, or if he’s glitter and theatre masks, if he’s all air and imagination, or if there’s something _substantial_ there, at all. Wonders if Remus could find parts of himself in there, all tucked away and hidden with shame.

 _Aaaand_ Roman still hasn’t cracked.

“Roman,” he leans in a bit more. “Tell me why, properly, or I’ll cut your fucking chest open and drag it out of you that way.”

The movement is fast, quick, _explosive_ \- Remus’ shoved backwards, head bouncing off the bathtub rim with a _crack_ , and Roman’s scrambled up on his feet, face this _thing_ , like a live-wired crackling with electricity.

“And why you do _care_!” he shouts, hands curled into fists, face flushed. “Why does it _matter_ , Remus!”

There’s blood soaking into the back of Remus’ hair, wet and warm, and Remus blinks, once, twice. His chest shakes.

He thinks maybe he’s laughing.

“Ugh, and now you’re _laughing_ at me!” Roman drags his hands through his hair, and really, that does it- Remus explodes into laughter, loud and crackling, and Roman looks down at him, expression all twisted up, and it’s so _funny_.

“I don’t!” he howls between bursts of laughter. “I really don’t, Roman!”

And he doesn’t.

Roman left him, Roman hates him, Roman took his spot and buried him alive, screaming and howling, and Remus hates him, he _does_ , and that’s the end of the sentence, there’s no _but_ here-

(except of course there is)

Roman drops back down.

Like a puppet with its strings cut, limp and defeated, and Remus’ winding down, falling into little crackling noises instead of full blown laughter.

“I fucked up.”

Roman curls his hands together; looks down at them, twisted together, and Remus’ shoulders stops shaking, bit by tiny bit.

“Deceit- he told us his name.”

Remus cracks a smile. Can’t help it.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?”

Roman’s shoulders hitch. He doesn’t quite smile.

“I- He said-” he stumbles. Struggles to find the words, and suddenly it’s not really funny anymore. Suddenly Remus’ can’t taste anything but bile.

“He said I was just like you.”

Roman looks at him. _Genuinely_ looks at him.

It’s the first time since- since forever, that they’ve actually just looked at each other, open and genuine.

“And neither Thomas, nor Patton, or even _Logan_ \- they didn’t _care_! It didn’t- it didn’t matter, I didn’t _matter_ , and I’m just-”

His hands are shaking, Remus realises. Quivering.

“I’m never going to be good enough, am I?”

Remus’ ass is wet. The fabric of his pants sticks to his buttcrack, and he’s actually kind of cold, kind of _miserable_ , and suddenly he doesn’t want to be here. Suddenly he’d rather just be far, far away.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Roman laughs. Ducks his head down, and presses the points of his knuckles against his eyes, and he’s _shaking_ , all of him.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” he says, and Remus isn’t sure if he means _here_ , as in his bathtub, or-

He doesn’t want to think on it.

He doesn’t want to _face this_ , whatever it is. He doesn’t watch to hold all of Roman’s sharp little pieces, doesn’t want to patch him back together and cut himself on all of those edges. It’s not fair.

It’s been years, and Remus should hate Roman, should _despise_ him, but-

He doesn’t say anything.

What could he say, really?

Instead he crawls forward, reaches out and wraps his arms around Roman, tugs him in for a hug that feels awkward, out of place, and so so _weird_.

Roman chokes on a noise, all torn and wounded, and digs his fingers into Remus’ shirt. Clings to him.

And all Remus can do is hold him.


End file.
